


under your skin the sun is alive

by Lirazel



Category: Infinite (Band), K-POP RPF, K-pop, Korean Pop, Kpop-Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sungyeol is back and he brought a tan with him, and Woohyun really, really appreciates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under your skin the sun is alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hyemiyah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyemiyah/gifts).



Sungyeol gets back midmorning, and the other members are in the middle of hours-long dance practice, perfecting the choreography for the comeback song, sweaty and steaming in the practice room. The familiar smell smacks Sungyeol in the face as soon as he walks into the building, sending him tumbling into a rabbit hole of nostalgia jumbled with an overwhelming memory of weariness—no matter what else changes, trophies and concepts and fucking _world tours_ , this place is always the same, and sometimes when his body is worn down by exhaustion after hours of endless practice, he can’t quite tell if it’s now or if it’s years ago when they were trainees and debuting wasn’t a sure thing for any of them, especially for gangly Sungyeol who couldn’t sing, could barely dance, and who wasn’t even sure what the fuck he was doing here in the first place. He has mixed feelings about this building: resentment for the pain and exhaustion it packs into his weak body, gratitude for the places it’s led them. He supposes in some ways that’s what home is—and that’s what makes this place, rather than their often-changing dorms, his home.

He’d gotten to see his mom right after the airport and he’ll see Daeyeol later, but right now he gets to see the members and it doesn’t make sense how excited he is, tromping down the stairs to the room where he can hear the still-novel strains of their new single pounding through the walls. The door is already open, so he doesn’t get the fun of throwing it open, but there’s something to be said for pausing right inside the doorway for that moment before any of the rest notice he’s there, watching their bodies move strong and sure together—he hasn’t missed practicing for their super-synchronized dances, but he has missed the results. They remind him of a school of fish or a flock of birds, the way they move as one in almost frightening synchronicity. The guys are not looking their best, dark rings around their eyes and faces slack with exhaustion, no hint of the polish they exhibit onstage. But it’s almost more impressive this way: the oneness even when they’re so tired they can barely keep moving. 

Sungyeol wants to move forward, slide into his place, the empty spot that’s left for him, fall into the rhythms, be pulled into the current of synchronicity. No, he hadn’t missed dance practice while he was gone—or vocal lessons or the more boring interviews—but he weirdly missed being part of this. Somehow, though, he had forgotten that there would be a spot open for him, that the dance wouldn’t look right no matter how well the rest of them knew it, all because he wasn’t there. It’s heady, that realization.

He only has a moment to reflect on it, though, because all of a sudden there’s a sound like a yelp and a blur of black streaks out of formation and right at Sungyeol. He’d been expecting this, but the force of Myungsoo slamming right into him still almost knocks him over, and Myungsoo, being Myungsoo, instantly gets his arms wrapped around Sungyeol so tight he can barely breathe. 

But the smell of Myungsoo, sweat and his shampoo and a hint of the kimchi jjigae he had for lunch, fills Sungyeol up and he winds his own long arms around his best friend’s familiar body. He’d missed Myungsoo more than he thought he would. Of course he knew he’d miss him, they’re best friends and rarely apart. But he hadn’t anticipated just how often he would turn to share a thought or a joke and Myungsoo wouldn’t be there, or how often he’d reach for his phone to text him and realize that they didn’t have service out here, or how often he’d be right in the middle of some ridiculous adventure and he’d think ‘this would be more fun if Myungsoo were here.’ Pretty much everything is better if Myungsoo is there.

Myungsoo is hugging him so hard it feels like his ribs are being forced into his organs, but he manages a laugh into Myungsoo’s damp hair. “I missed you, too, dumbass.” Myungsoo just hums and snuggles even closer, face tucked into the curve of Sungyeol’s neck and shoulders, completely content. 

“Sungyeollie!” 

That’s Dongwoo’s voice and Sungyeol looks up to see that the dazed looks on the others’ faces are brimming into grins. None of them look alike, his members, but somehow they all have identical smiles on their faces and if Myungsoo weren’t already wrapped around him like iron, Sungyeol thinks his chest would tighten at the sight. 

The music keeps playing on loop as the others crowd around. “For fuck’s sake, hyung, let go of him for five seconds so someone else can hug him,” Sungjong says, but anyone who knows Myungsoo knows that isn’t going to happen, so Dongwoo throws his arms around both of them—which looks funny, Sungyeol can see in the mirror, with how tiny he is—and crows, “Welcome home! We missed you!”

“We did, hyung,” Sungjong says, peeling Dongwoo away and giving Sungyeol a brief hug that includes Myungsoo by default. “But we did not miss you leaving your wet towels all over the dorm.”

“Or your snoring,” Sunggyu adds, but then he smiles, eyes disappearing, and reaches out to give Sungyeol an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

“I was pretty sure they were going to have to wheel you home on a stretcher, but it looks like you managed to come back in one piece. How’d you pull that one? Make a deal with the devil?” Hoya asks, slapping Sungyeol on the back. 

“I got food poisoning one day and spent twenty-four hours throwing up and shitting like nonstop,” Sungyeol says. “And I’m covered with bug bites. Covered. I’ve gone through like three tubes of hydrocortisone already.”

“I thought you’d suburn, but it looks like you just tanned,” Hoya says.

“It suits you, hyung,” Sungjong adds, running a critical eye over Sungyeol’s body, all the skin bared by his tight tank top.

“Yeah, it’s really manly, Yeollie,” Dongwoo adds. He’s practically dancing in place with happiness. Coming back home to Dongwoo-hyung is better than being greeted by a puppy, but it feels about the same way—an instant ego boost that someone is that happy to see you. 

“Yeah. It goes great with the new concept. The fans will love it,” says a deep voice that Sungyeol feels vibrate through him like electricity. He turns his head and has to stop himself from gasping when his eyes meet Woohyun’s. Woohyun’s eyes are dark, so dark, and the way he’s looking at Sungyeol is—well, Sungyeol doesn’t want to label what it is because it’s just…too much. It isn’t the first time he’s caught Woohyun looking at him like that, but usually when he does Woohyun flushes and looks away quickly and he can pretend it didn’t happen. But this—Woohyun’s gaze is steady, caught in his own, and Sungyeol swallows hard.

It suddenly feels wrong for Myungsoo to be clinging to him like this when he’s feeling something he doesn’t want to name tingling across his skin, so he starts trying to extricate himself from Myungsoo’s arms. “Seriously, dumbass, let go for five minute so I can remember how to breathe.”

“Yeah, let someone else get a piece of him.”

Sungyeol tenses at Woohyun’s voice even as Myungsoo finally lets go and takes a half-step back before Hoya reaches out and grabs him by his shoulder, jerking him away from Sungyeol. And then there’s Woohyun right up against Sungyeol and he was just getting the world’s most intense hug from his cuddle monster of a best friend, so how does this feel so different? How does Woohyun’s body feel so much warmer and harder, how is Sungyeol so much more aware of the skin of Woohyun’s bare arms, smooth and with a sheen of sweat, pressed up against his own? Myungsoo was just breathing right into his neck, but it didn’t send a shiver through him the way the slightest brush of Woohyun’s breath against his shoulder does. Fuck.

From the outside, it probably just looks like a hug. But Sungyeol is Kim Myungsoo’s best friend: he knows hugs, and hugs don’t feel like this. This is…well, Sungyeol doesn’t know what it is.

Woohyun lets him go after what seems like far too long, and Sungyeol makes sure not to meet his eyes. Luckily, Sunggyu is there to be his usual hardass self: “Want to see how much of the choreo you’ve forgotten?”

“Not particularly,” Sungyeol answers, trying to ignore how exposed he feels. “But I’m guessing that’s not really an invitation.”

“No. It’s an order. Comeback is in _days_ and we have a world tour to prepare for. Back in formation. Now.”

Everyone groans, but they move back into place quickly enough. Myungsoo gives Sungyeol one more quick, hard hug before hurrying to obey their leader, and Sungyeol tosses his hat into the corner and takes his own place in the formation. Sure, he’d just been wishing to be back a part of Infinite’s well-oiled machine again, but now when he has to he really just wants to whine about jet lag and go back to the dorm and wallow around in his own bed for a while—he really missed his bed. But this is the life he chose, and Sunggyu is probably right—he almost certainly has forgotten some of the moves while he was gone. It’s going to take some serious work over the next few days to get it all back.

And it’s harder, Sungyeol discovers, to concentrate when every time he looks up to the mirrors he sees Woohyun’s dark eyes watching him, gaze heavy on Sungyeol’s long legs, tan arms, flushing face. Sungyeol keeps getting distracted, tripping over his own feet, a half beat behind everyone else. Sunggyu nags, but it’s halfhearted; he’s cutting Sungyeol some slack because of Belize. But Sungyeol knows that permissiveness won’t last long; Sunggyu will expect him to be recovered and focused by tomorrow. And all Sungyeol can do is desperately hope that Woohyun won’t still be looking at him like that tomorrow, because he’s never going to be able to master the choreo if Woohyun’s eyes are always on him this way.

Sungyeol stares at his own reflection, the unfamiliar darkness of his skin—it does look manly, right? He thinks he likes it—and tries to focus. But in the mirror, Woohyun is still watching him. 

 

 

 

Fuck, it’s good to be back in his own room, even if he hasn’t gotten to sprawl out on his bed yet because Myungsoo is laying on it, telling him every boring detail of Infinite’s schedules while Sungyeol was gone and demanding that Sungyeol tell him about every minute of every day of his trip. Sungyeol doesn’t mind too much—Myungsoo is the best possible audience, laughing so hard he almost falls off the bed at the stories about Sungyeol’s run-ins with monkeys trying to steal his food, being more than sympathetic about Sungyeol’s many bug bites, eyes shining with pride when Sungyeol tells him about successes on the show’s challenges. Sungyeol leans back in his desk chair, using one leg to spin himself slowly back and forth, and tells his best friend everything he can remember, knowing that no matter how small and insignificant it is, Myungsoo will be delighted by it.

But Sungyeol is feeling the time difference catching up with him; it’s only late afternoon, but his eyelids are beginning to droop. He should really send Myungsoo off so he can get some sleep so he can hopefully be in better form tomorrow, but Myungsoo still looks so ecstatic that he’s back that he can’t really bring himself to do it. Myungsoo appears very much as though he’s going to stay right where he is all night, and Sungyeol is toying again with the thought of kicking him out when there’s a knock on the cracked door and then it creaks open and there’s Woohyun.

Sungyeol only catches a glimpse of him before his eyes shoot away, but he can feel a blush rising under the tan of his skin and he finds that he’s no longer sprawled loose-limbed in his chair but that he’s sitting upright and staring hard at Myungsoo so he won’t have to notice that Woohyun is _right there_.

“You’ve got a schedule soon, Myungsoo. You need to go get ready if you aren’t going to be late,” Woohyun says in his I’m-the-vice-leader voice. Sungyeol’s eyes fasten on the picture collage over his bed that Myungsoo had made right after he moved in.

“Okay, hyung,” Myungsoo says reluctantly, but always the good dongsaeng he rises from the bed. Then he jerks Sungyeol up out of his chair and gives him another rib-cracking hug. Sungyeol’s cough turns into a laugh and he pats Myungsoo on the head. “I’m going to be here when you get back.”

“If you’re gone I’ll hunt you down and knock you out and drag you back and chain you to your bed,” Myungsoo says into his shoulder.

“Sounds kinky,” Sungyeol laughs. “I’m not sure I like you that way. Can’t you buy a guy dinner first?”

Myungsoo snorts as he pulls away, face crumpled up the way it does when he’s trying not to smile. “Shut up, fuckface.”

Sungyeol is still laughing when Myungsoo leaves the room, but it dies away when he realizes Woohyun is still standing in the doorway. He turns quickly, moving over to the basket of his clothes from the trip, freshly washed and waiting to be hung up. Sungyeol usually doesn’t bother, just dumping them in a corner and designating it the ‘clean clothes pile’ but now he desperately needs something to do with his hands, something to focus on besides Woohyun standing just inside his room.

“What’s up?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light, as he grabs a few hangers and starts hanging clothes. 

“Myungsoo was laughing louder than Dongwoo in here. I guess you’ve got some pretty great stories to tell us,” Woohyun says. Sungyeol glances over his shoulder and sees that Woohyun has his arms crossed and is leaning casually against the wall by the door. Fuck.

“Yeah, it was crazy and the hyungs were crazy and the monkeys were crazy. Lots of stories.” For some reason it’s taking a lot more concentration than it should to get the hanger through the arm of this shirt.

“I want to hear them all.” Woohyun’s voice, which had been light and conversational, changes suddenly. “Was the food poisoning bad, Yeol?”

Sungyeol spins around. That dark something has abandoned Woohyun’s eyes and all he sees is concern—the same concern he sees whenever he’s sick or injured. Which is a lot. Woohyun is always so worried, whereas the others have long ago stopped caring all that much; trouble finding Sungyeol is as expected as Myungsoo eating everything in sight or Dongwoo grabbing people’s butts without even realizing it. If they all got worried whenever Sungyeol gets the flu or stands too near to an exploding confetti cannon, they’d all have ulcers. They save their anxiety for the things that involved copious amounts of blood. Except for Woohyun. Whenever Sungyeol so much as gets a scratch, he gets all fussy with the first aid kit. Sungyeol’s always told himself that that’s just Woohyun’s nature, like his need to cook for them all whenever they’re feeling too stressed. But maybe….

Sungyeol slams the door to that thought shut and turns back to his clothes. “It wasn’t fun, but the production noonas made sure I didn’t get dehydrated, so it wasn’t a big deal. I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah,” Woohyun agrees, sounding sad. “What about your mosquito bites? You’re not going to get malaria, are you?” It’s a joke, but there’s a note of real concern in it. If anyone was going to get malaria, it would be Sungyeol.

“I’m fine. They had me take whatever that medicine is while I was there to make sure I wouldn’t get it. I don’t even have a sniffle. They just itch like hell.”

“I could help you put on the ointment. You know, if there’s some place you can’t reach.”

Whiplash. What the _fuck_? How can he go from concerned friend to—to whatever the _hell_ that is without warning? His voice is light, but even Myungsoo hadn’t made any jokes like that and Myungsoo will use any excuse for skinship. Sungyeol finds that his hands are shaking and he places the hung-up shirt on the bar, reaching for another hanger and holding onto it too hard in an attempt to keep them steady.

No matter how hard he tries—and he’s trying really, really hard—he can’t rid his head of the images of those times he and Woohyun got drunk and made out and gave each other sloppy handjobs. It’s happened a couple times, always when they were alone and their veins swimming with soju, stumbling into each other and pressing skin against skin, mouth against mouth, hands sliding under clothes. 

Most of the time they ignore those incidents, act like they never happened. It’s easy enough to rationalize them away as drunken moments of stupidity fueled by sexual frustration because they can’t spend five minutes alone with a girl. If they could date or even have casual hookups, none of it would happen. It’s not that Woohyun really wants him (it’s that not he really wants Woohyun), it’s just that they want release. It’s easy to believe that.

At least it usually is. Not so much when they’re both sober and alone in Sungyeol’s room and Woohyun is looking at him the way Sungyeol knows he is and saying things like _that_. Fuck.

He tries to keep his voice steady, but it cracks as he replies. “I don’t think that will be necessary. In case you haven’t noticed, my arms are pretty long. There really aren’t any places I can’t reach.”

The door clicks shut. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

Woohyun’s voice is right behind him; Sungyeol jumps and drops the shirt and hanger he was holding and spins around. And yes, Woohyun is right _there_ and his eyes are even darker than before and Sungyeol feels like he’s going to come out of his skin and—

And Woohyun’s hands, warm and a big rough, are on Sungyeol’s bare arms, sliding up their length and then back down again, raising goosebumps as they go, making Sungyeol desperately wish that he’d put on a t-shirt instead of this tank top that leaves so much skin visible.

“What the—what the fuck are you—?” Sungyeol can’t even stammer the words out. Woohyun is right _there_ and Sungyeol can smell him, the body wash he uses, just a hint of his cologne, he must have just taken a shower, he smells really fucking good and—

“You’re so dark,” Woohyun breathes, hands still moving over Sungyeol’s arms. Sungyeol should push him away, but somehow he can’t do anything but stand there and let Woohyun touch him. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s just a tan,” Sungyeol manages to say, but then Woohyun’s fingers brush across his collarbones and he almost chokes. 

“It’s really fucking hot,” Woohyun says, and then he’s sliding one of his hands up into Sungyeol’s short hair and pulling Sungyeol’s head down and Woohyun’s lips are even better when they’re not drunk and—

Sungyeol grabs Woohyun’s shoulders, gripping them hard as they kiss, mouths harsh and demanding. There’s a hint of toothpaste lurking in Woohyun’s mouth, but underneath that is just Woohyun, and it’s the first time Sungyeol has ever tasted it without a layer of alcohol over it, and fuck, it’s more intoxicating than soju could ever hope to be. Sungyeol feels his back bump into the wall and realizes Woohyun is pressing him up against it, his body hard against Sungyeol’s. Sungyeol can’t help but let out a moan.

“You know what I really want to know?” Woohyun rasps when the kiss ends, lowering his mouth to nip at one of Sungyeol’s collarbones.

“What?” Sungyeol gasps, fingers tightening around Woohyun’s shoulders.

“Where your tan lines are,” Woohyun says, and then he’s grabbing the bottom of Sungyeol’s tank and pulling it over his head and Sungyeol has to let go of his shoulders to let him peel it off. And then Woohyun’s hands are back on Sungyeol, running over his torso, making Sungyeol groan and his head drop back against the wall. 

“You ran around without a shirt on?” Woohyun asks, voice quiet, sounding awed. Where the tanks Sungyeol wore were, his skin is several shades lighter than his arms and shoulders and collarbones, but still tan. Woohyun leans down and licks along the line where dark meets lighter, right where Sungyeol’s scoop necks would end. Sungyeol reaches out and grabs onto Woohyun’s hips; he has to have something to hold onto.

“Not for the cameras. But we went to the beach a couple of times and— _shit_.”

“I want to lick you all over,” Woohyun breathes, and Sungyeol’s eyes slide closed, but he’s pretty sure he’s cross-eyed all the same as Woohyun starts to do just that. Sungyeol’s legs’ ability to keep him upright is dissipating by the second, so he uses his grip on Woohyun’s waist to steer him over to the bed, even as Woohyun is dragging his tongue over Sungyeol’s chest. When the back of Woohyun’s legs hit the bed, he straightens, pulling back and reaches to unbutton Sungyeol’s pants.

Sungyeol can’t possibly keep his voice steady. “Uh—Woohyun—“ 

Woohyun pauses in pulling the pants down over Sungyeol’s narrow hips, looks up at him with serious concern showing through the glaze of desire in his eyes. “You want this, right?” he asks, and Sungyeol knows just how serious he is. He knows that if he says that no, he doesn’t want this, Woohyun will flush scarlet but pull back and apologize and leave. And things will be awkward between them, far more awkward than after the drunken moments they pretend don’t happen. The thought of it makes Sungyeol’s chest ache, of the distance Woohyun will put between them, of how impossible it will be for them to joke and tease and prank and all the other things they do together. Sungyeol would hate that.

But that isn’t why Sungyeol wants this. He wants it because he does. Fuck it: he really does want Woohyun. Maybe he has all along.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want it,” he says, voice shaking, and the lust takes over Woohyun’s eyes again as he pulls down Sungyeol’s pants and underwear and Sungyeol steps out of them, kicking them away. Sungyeol barely has time to blush at being naked—and getting hard—while Woohyun is fully clothed, because Woohyun is pushing him down onto the bed and running a hand from Sungyeol’s clavicle down to his thigh. Sungyeol can feel the blood rushing through his body, all headed for one place.

“I don’t understand,” Woohyun whispers, and his voice is so close to wonder—to adoration—to worship—that Sungyeol wants to die. “It’s like you get more fucking gorgeous all the time. How is that right?”

Sungyeol had thought all of his blood was rushing to his dick, but apparently there’s enough left to turn his cheeks bright red. “Woohyun—“

Woohyun rolls on top of him, kissing him again, deep and long, his hand grasping Sungyeol’s thigh. Sungyeol wraps his arms around Woohyun’s shoulders and lets himself get lost in the kiss.

When it’s over and Sungyeol is left gasping as Woohyun’s lips leave his, Woohyun slides down and then lets out a low, rumbling laugh that Sungyeol can feel down to his toes. “Well, at least you didn’t go skinny-dipping. I’d be pissed at you if you went without me.”

“Wha—“

Sungyeol doesn’t even have time to ask the question because Woohyun’s mouth is back, sliding over the place where the tan of Sungyeol’s upper body meets the pale, untanned skin that his pants and swim trunks had covered. Sungyeol had had no idea till this moment that his hipbones were so sensitive, but apparently they are when Woohyun’s tongue is gliding along one of them, down over the flat plane of his belly, up to the hill of the other hipbone. 

“Fuck, you’d look amazing skinny dipping. Sliding all tan into the water.” Woohyun’s words, as much as his mouth on Sungyeol’s body, are making Sungyeol shiver with need. “And your hair wet—wet like this or wet when it’s long, _fuck_ , it doesn’t even matter, you’d look amazing.”

Sungyeol jolts off the bed with a whimper when Woohyun’s hand grasps his dick. “Woohyun,” he whines, voice cracking, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t sound even slightly manly at all, but he doesn’t give a fuck.

“But no one else can see it, right? It’ll be just you and me.”

Woohyun’s hand feels amazing on his dick, firm and perfect, and when he releases it, Sungyeol lets out a long whine. Woohyun chuckles, his breath brushing against Sungyeol’s inner thigh, causing Sungyeol’s hands to fist in the sheets. And then Woohyun licks him and the whine turns into a strangled moan.

“You’re still so pale here. Almost white,” Woohyun says, stroking his hand up Sungyeol’s thigh. Then Woohyun laughs. “Well, right here you’re pink,” he adds, then takes a suck on the head of Sungyeol’s dick and Sungyeol’s legs jerk, sweat breaking out across his skin and back arching a bit. Sungyeol pries his eyes open and looks down his body, taking in the colors Woohyun seems so enamored of: the bright copper of his arms and calves, the mellow tan of his chest, the paleness of his thighs and crotch. It looks kind of strange to Sungyeol’s eyes, patchwork, not something he’s used to, but if the way Woohyun’s thumb is stroking the tan line right above Sungyeol’s knee is any indication, Woohyun likes it a lot.

“One day,” Woohyun whispers, and then Sungyeol promptly forgets that he even spoke because Woohyun takes him as fully into his mouth as he can and Sungyeol feels like the pleasure is pouring into him and filling him up. For a while there’s nothing but the wethottight of Woohyun’s mouth, and then Woohyun releases him and Sungyeol is distracted enough by the cold of the air that he almost doesn’t hear what Woohyun says next. “One day we’re going to go to a private island. So private you don’t even have to wear clothes at all.” Woohyun takes him in his mouth again, and why the fuck is he trying to talk to Sungyeol while he’s giving him a blowjob? Does he think Sungyeol can concentrate on _anything_ right now that isn’t Woohyun’s mouth? He keens again when Woohyun pulls back again, not as far this time, his breath puffing against Sungyeol’s overly sensitive skin. “And you’re going to get tan _all over_. And then we’re going to—fuck, I want to suck you off when your dick is tan _fuck_.”

Sungyeol had been rushing steadily towards pleasure but at Woohyun’s words he lurches even closer to it. He can suddenly almost feel the sun on his skin, smell the brine of hot sea air, the powder-soft sand below him. And Woohyun, touching him.

Woohyun takes him back into his mouth, and Sungyeol hasn’t ever had a blowjob before so he doesn’t really know but he thinks Woohyun is probably really good at this, because he’s never felt anything so good in his entire life. This is better than _anything_ , so good he almost doesn’t mind when Woohyun pulls back to sketch more of his fantasy. “We’ll get coconut-scented lube and—can I fuck you? Would you let me? Or do you want to fuck me? Either one, I don’t care.” A sound Sungyeol can’t name is yanked out of him at Woohyun’s words. “Or we can fuck each other, that’s better. And skinny dip and I can suck you off when your dick is tan and—“

Either Woohyun doesn’t have anything more to add or he can’t keep his mouth away from Sungyeol, because he breaks off, diving back down again and Sungyeol is tossed back into the depths of pleasure, yanking at the sheets, feet sliding around as he tries to keep his hips from thrusting forward.

Sungyeol doesn’t know how much time passes, but he can feel his orgasm rushing up on him like the edge of a cliff he’s about to fall over and he reaches down and jerks at Woohyun’s hair. “Woo—“ his voice cracks. “Woohyun!”

But Woohyun just hums and doesn’t pull back and after a moment Sungyeol’s orgasm slams into him harder than any he’s ever had, and Woohyun’s mouth doesn’t move and that just makes it better and—

Sungyeol is gasping, soaked in sweat and letting out little exhausted sounds when Woohyun finally pulls back, presses a kiss right at the edge of the pale skin of Sungyel’s thigh, and moves up to lay beside Sungyeol. Sungyeol sucks in air, turning his face to meet Woohyun’s. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and is Woohyun blushing?

“I know we don’t ever talk about…what happens when we’re drunk,” Woohyun says, voice thick but faltering a bit. “I don’t know if you—I know you like girls and you don’t want—but Yeol, I just want you so much. All the time. And not just like this, but like…every way.”

Sungyeol wants to turn away, bury his face in the pillow until his blushing stops. Woohyun is fidgeting and won’t quite look at Sungyeol’s face, and it’s so fucking endearing, that Woohyun puts on a façade of smoothness for the fans, the guy who always says the greasy romantic thing, but this is real and this is just for them and Woohyun’s words are awkward and Sungyeol feels affection expanding in his chest.

Sungyeol likes girls. But he also wants Woohyun. And maybe—

He rolls over till he’s on top of Woohyun, who lets out a startled noise, and lowers his head to kiss Woohyun long and deep. When he pulls back, Woohyun is panting and staring up at him with huge eyes. 

“Why do you still have clothes on?” Sungyeol asks, and it’s not an answer, except that it is, and Woohyun must think so too because his eyes light up and Sungyeol is laughing when he sits up to help Woohyun out of his clothes and he’s still laughing when he touches Woohyun, really touches him for the first time, and Sungyeol hadn’t really understood what Woohyun meant about it not being right that he’s that gorgeous, but he thinks that when he looks down at Woohyun’s face, flushed with pleasure, maybe he gets it now.

 

 

 

For Sungyeol’s birthday, Dongwoo gives him a box full of completely random things—little toys, favorite snacks, pictures of the members goofing off, little notes about why Sungyeol is awesome, things like that. It’s so typically Dongwoo that Sungyeol laughs as he pulls out the items. But he cocks his head in confusion when he finds the bottle of sunscreen.

“What’s this, hyung?” he asks.

Dongwoo had been bouncing with happiness as Sungyeol opened his gift, but his eyes go wide and very serious at the question. “You keep getting so tan, Sungyeollie. What if you get melanoma? You look nice with a tan, but your pale skin is nice, too, and I’m worried you aren’t taking care of your skin to keep you healthy. Please accept this gift from your hyung who loves you.”

Sungyeol stares at the bottle in his hand, and looks up when he hears a snorting sound from the corner. Woohyun is trying desperately to keep from laughing, but he’s shaking so hard he almost falls out of his chair. Cheeks flushing, Sungyeol pelts the bottle at him as hard as he can and it slams into Woohyun’s shoulder, but it only makes Woohyun laugh harder.

He laughs again when Sungyeol shoves him into his room later that night. “You total asshole!” Sungyeol snaps. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I couldn’t help but picture Dongwoo’s face if you told him that you keep your skin tan because you like the dirty things I say to you about it when we have sex.”

“I am going to kill you.”

“Not till you see your present.”

“You already gave me my present.”

“Not this one,” Woohyun says, and holds up a little bottle, shaking it from side to side so it takes Sungyeol a minute to read the words ‘COCONUT-FLAVORED’ printed on it.

One of the nice things about his darker skin is that his blushes aren’t as obvious as they are with his natural shade. “I am going to kill you,” he repeats, and shoves Woohyun down onto the bed. Woohyun is still laughing as he pops open the bottle. The air smells like coconuts.


End file.
